I wish I could wrap myself up in words and never let go. For there is no shape or size within language and my body is only a whisp–only smoke.
The night is mine to do with as I please. Perhaps I will spend it sketching and sitting cross-legged as my stained fingertips smell of fresh lead or in the arms of my father’s armchair, sipping on soaking tea leaves.
Maybe the clock’s evening ticks will be drowned out by the rush of twinkling notes streaming through my headphones. And afterward playing tabletop games in all shapes and sizes.
Or better yet, go to bed early and smile at the ceiling while my eyes waft off to the realm of rest. So many choices, so much exposure… I could choose to push it away and enclose myself in false security,
for false security after all is better than the absence of real comfort.
But I’ll choose to accept all of it and stand my ground. I only get one life to live. Why should I shove it away into a box and try to forget about it? Why wait to be satisfied? My life–my night–is my own, to do with as I please. Every option teeters precariously upon each point in time and multitudes of decision lay open to me.
Life’s a balance.